


From the Chimmney with Care

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Sherlock December Ficlets 2017 [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Sherlock Christmas Ficlets 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: On a cold winter's day an unexpected visitor comes to 221B Baker Street





	From the Chimmney with Care

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the [Sherlock December Ficlets ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcollections%2FSherlock_December_Ficlets_2017&t=NjRmODc4ZjE3OGJjNjUzYzg2NWVhY2QzMTRjNDJmOTUwMzdkOTRhMCxabzFVQjBkMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AfMPAp7-tN-90HMCNGHRDOw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmissdaviswrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167644180668%2Fsherlock-december-ficlets&m=0) challenge. Each will be its own story, though knowing me a couple may follow an arc of sorts.  
> The prompt used for this entry: Stocking Stuffers / Icicles

She looks at the icicles hanging from the outside window crown here. The way the heat from the fairy holiday lights hung inside the window frame generates just enough heat to create drops that seem to glow as they swirl around and then fall to the sill, stalactites above, stalagmites below. She turns from the window, walking around the empty sitting room gaily decorated for the holidays. She smirks reading some of the cards on the mantle.

This festiveness was definitely not the handiwork of the genius who lives here. No, Sherlock Holmes could not be so arsed with such things, far too sentimental for the man. She knows it has to be the work of his flatmate John Watson and perhaps their landlady Mrs. Hudson. Yet, it says something about the man that he tolerates its existence. He does care to at least make his flatmate happy. That makes her smirk as she thinks about how to play that angle if needed. Her heels clicking gently on the floor as she walks around the flat.

She pokes around idly in the kitchen. It was a lot cleaner looking than from what she had been informed. Then again, she knew they were expecting guests much later and had to make it presentable. Idle curiosity made her open the refrigerator, she could not believe what she had been told gets placed in here. She grimaces at the Ziploc bag of eyeballs in the vegetable crisper she spies giving veracity to the statement as she closes the door. She then pokes her head in the bathroom for a moment before she heads for the room that holds the most interest for his – the bedroom.

She looks at the light coming through the bedroom window. The sky was bright, but it is early afternoon on a winter’s day. It will be dark soon, she did not have much time left, yet she lingers. She simply can’t help as looks around. The furnishings very much like the owner. Austere, but well appointed, everything has its purpose, nothing unnecessary, nothing cheap. Even the Periodic Table, the closest one could come to a superfluous thing in the room, but not to the master chemist who sleeps here, is beautifully framed.  She smirks slightly, her perfectly manicured fingers run along the bespoke suits and shirts in the wardrobe. Oh, posh indeed, but the bedroom is a little too intimate for what she wants and heads back into the sitting room.

Looking at the fireplace again she’s minded of Clement Clarke Moore _Night Before Christmas_.  The small stockings, embroidered with the names of the occupants of 221b and 221A were empty, clearly for décor only.  It was just as well, the charming items she spies are not the kind of stockings she would have hung with care for Sherlock. She idly wonders if something else she was told is true: that the only stockings he has ever touched while a woman wore them were for a case, never for his own pleasure.

_Pity. I could think of something involving stockings that could give pleasure._

She looks out of the sitting room window, seeing snow is beginning to gently fall and picks up her fur coat from Sherlock’s chair, puts it on and then pulls on long gloves. 

“Alas, Mr. Homes, I’ll offer you a game more to your liking, for now." Irene Adler smirks to the room as a whole as she pulls a small box wrapped in blood-red paper and tied with black rope-like string from her purse and placed it on the mantle, then turns to leave.

"Take good care of it, Sherlock. I will want it back.” 


End file.
